


Facing the Music

by ayzenigma, bewaretheboojum, Nanimok, njw, salazarastark (niewanyin)



Series: A Journey of Personal Discovery Through Social Isolation [5]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Batfamily Feels, Bruce Wayne's C+ Parenting, Fluff and Angst, Humor, M/M, Multiverse, Soulmates, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-12
Updated: 2019-09-12
Packaged: 2020-10-14 16:27:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20603804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ayzenigma/pseuds/ayzenigma, https://archiveofourown.org/users/bewaretheboojum/pseuds/bewaretheboojum, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nanimok/pseuds/Nanimok, https://archiveofourown.org/users/njw/pseuds/njw, https://archiveofourown.org/users/niewanyin/pseuds/salazarastark
Summary: Red Hood’s eyes snap open and he realizes two things in quick succession. First, if this is a hallucination, it’s sure as fuck a vivid one. Every detail of the warehouse interior surrounding him, from the blood spatters on the floor to the crazed glint in the Joker’s eye, is exactly like he remembers from the night he died.Second, there’s a goddamnkidlying on the ground, curled on his side braced against the coming blow. Everything’s exactly the same…Except the red hair, that’s new. Definitely an alternate universe, then. At least it isn’t time travel, Hood fuckinghatestime travel.





	Facing the Music

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rider_of_Spades](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rider_of_Spades/gifts).

> Happy birthday, Rider_of_Spades! We hope you enjoy this story and that it has all the time travel/alternate universe shenanigans, soulmates, and pining Jason your heart desires!

Red Hood dodges the really fucking destructive lasers that are now shooting out of the weird-looking machine in the center of the laboratory and lands in a crouch, heart racing. He catches sight of Baby Bird, who is standing there making a goddamn target of himself like a moron as he taps frantically at some kind of control panel. He’s probably trying to undo whatever fuckery the moronic mad scientist of the week programmed before cackling insanely while fleeing the vicinity and leaving them to deal with the mess left behind. 

Well, genius or not, he won’t be able to save anyone if he’s sliced in half by a damn laser. “We gotta talk about reasonable risks sometime, Baby Bird.” Red Hood catches Red Robin around the waist just as something changes and the machine lights up, a soft whine gradually increasing in volume until it hurts his ears, drowning out even the constant discordance of his soulsong.

Not that the other vigilante has any reason to listen to him, or believe he might actually give a damn about his well-being. His heart twists and he grits his teeth behind the helmet. Now’s a really shitty time to think about his stupid, hopeless crush on his replacement. He shoves it down and tries to grapple the other man toward the dubious safety of the window. 

Baby Bird twists desperately in his arms, trying to reach the control panel again. “Hood, _get down—_” 

Glancing back over his shoulder, he sees a wave of light expanding out from the machine. It’s coming _fast, _and there’s no way he’s going to be able to get out carrying Red Robin. 

Fuck it. If only one of them makes it out of this, he’s sure as hell going to make sure it’s the right one. 

“Sorry, Baby Bird,” he growls in the smaller man’s ear, ignoring his choked off protest. And then he throws him out the goddamn window, a bare second before the wave of light and sound envelopes him and the whole world goes _bright._

* * *

“This is going to _hurt you_ a lot more than it does _me.” _That damn _voice _sends chills down his spine, and for a second Red Hood’s afraid that damn machine sent him straight to his own personal hell. He freezes in place, waiting for the first blow of the crowbar. But then… “Wait, who the hell are you? I didn’t invite an audience for this performance!” 

Red Hood’s eyes snap open, and he realizes two things in quick succession. First, if this is a hallucination, it’s sure as fuck a vivid one. Every detail of the warehouse interior surrounding him, from the blood spatters on the floor to the crazed glint in the Joker’s eye, is exactly like he remembers from the night he died.

The night he was _murdered, _by the very madman who is eyeing him now, gaze speculative and unhinged. 

Second, there’s a goddamn _kid _lying on the ground, curled on his side braced against the coming blow. Hands tied behind his back, pain and defiance on his face… The boy’s blue eyes blink open and he stares up at them, confusion and the barest hint of hope evident in his all too familiar gaze. Everything’s exactly the same… 

Except the red hair, that’s new. Definitely an alternate universe, then. At least it isn’t time travel, Hood fucking _hates _time travel.

“Well, fuck me,” Hood whispers. 

Jason Todd, _Robin, _squints up at him, looking concerned. “You gotta run—”

The Joker’s laughter interrupts, loud and ugly. “No one’s leaving until Uncle Joker says so. Maybe we can find a fun way to _play _with our new friend, though. Who wants to play ‘_How’s my forehand?’”_

With that, the son of a bitch swings the damn crowbar down, right at Robin’s unprotected back. 

Like _hell. _

Hood’s on his feet instantly, catching the downswing in his gauntlet and then wrenching the tool out of the villain’s grip. “Oh, I know that game,” he says, grinning meanly under the helmet. “I’ll go first.”

Fuck, this might even be fun.

* * *

Batman lets out the throttle, cursing everything as the motorcycle roars up the mountain, bringing him ever-closer to his _son. _

He can’t be too late. God help him, he won’t be able to handle it if Jason’s…

No. 

He _has _to hope for the best. Jason’s alive, and he needs him right now. The alternative is unbearable. The warehouse finally looms ahead of him, so close and yet so insurmountably far away considering the unspeakable horror he is all too aware must be playing out within. His heart pounds, hope and fear icing his veins as he prepares for battle. 

Now to just get inside and save his boy—

The warehouse explodes in a blinding firestorm, lighting up the cold night sky in a hellish imitation of dawn. 

_“No! JASON!”_ he roars, unable to accept what he already knows. But no, it _can’t _be true. 

Robin—his _son_—Jason… can’t be dead. He will never forgive himself if… Blinking away the unaccountable blurriness from his vision, he rapidly dismounts and takes off running across the uneven, snowy ground, his only goal the burning structure and whatever’s left of his child. What he intends to do once he gets there, he isn’t sure, but doing nothing is unimaginable. If he stops moving, he’ll be overcome by the horror and grief of realizing he was _too late… _

As he approaches, the uncomfortable heat of the fire provides a welcome distraction from the raging inferno of his thoughts. He catches sight of a shadowy form silhouetted against the flames. A moment later, a large man looms into sight, staggering away from the destruction behind him. He’s carrying something. 

Batman’s voice catches in his throat and his eyes sting as he recognizes the torn costume, the curly hair…

_Jason._

He doesn’t realize he’s spoken the word out loud until both of them answer. “Yeah?” Their voices are strangely similar, and he pauses for a moment to chase down the implications of that oddity before his relief pushes the thought aside for the moment and he reaches for his son.

“My god, Jason, I almost lost you,” he breathes, nose buried in smoke-scented hair. He feels the body in his arms shaking, and his grip tightens as he realizes once more how very _close _he came tonight to the unthinkable. 

Over the shoulder of his son’s rescuer, he spots what looks like the Joker’s form, bound and injured but clearly still breathing. The man must have dragged him beyond the blast zone. Well, the villain will keep until Superman gets here. Batman doesn’t trust himself with going near the insane clown right now, not after what he planned to do, _was doing_, to Jason.

The boy in his arms murmurs, then closes his eyes, apparently losing the battle with exhaustion now that he senses he’s safe. And that reminds him…

“Thank you,” he says, voice slightly hoarse. “For saving him. Who…” He finally manages to tear his eyes away from Jason’s miraculously _still-living _form to fully take in his rescuer for the first time, and the words die on his lips. He blinks, wondering for an insane moment if Willis Todd had an older son who failed to show up in any of the meticulous background searches he has conducted over the years. 

_Jason’s eyes _stare at him from a rugged, older version of his face. What Batman had taken at first glance for civilian gear reveals itself upon closer inspection to be fortified material, and there are multiple suspicious bulges indicative of hidden weaponry. The man shifts awkwardly on his feet, one gloved hand rising to rub at the back of his neck in a very familiar gesture. 

The suspicion which has been forming in the back of his mind since the moment he called out to his son and both men answered crystallizes when the man clears his throat, then answers. “Well, B, that’s a long fuckin’ story.” He hesitates, the expression of hope mixed with resignation and defensiveness on his face an exact replica of the night Batman found a little boy stealing the tires off the Batmobile. 

Wearily, Batman hefts his son higher in his arms and turns back toward the road. “The Batplane will be here soon. I need to check Jason for injuries, but you can tell me your story while I do so. Time travel, or multiverse?” His gaze flicks to the tall man’s hair, as dark as his own. He’s inclined to suspect multiverse, unless the boy took to dying his hair at some point. 

The man—_Todd, _since calling him Jason would result in too much confusion—is just staring at him, gaping in disbelief. “The _fuck, _Old Man, I just show up outta nowhere and you’re gonna trust me that easily?” He seems torn between relief and wariness. 

Batman turns over his shoulder to look at him. “You saved my _son. _Even if you _weren’t _obviously an adult version of Jason Todd, displaced in either time, space, or both, you would have my eternal gratitude for that. If you hadn’t been here…” He swallows, unable to continue talking. 

But it seems he said enough. Todd blinks rapidly, then nods, rubbing the back of his gloved fist over his eyes in another achingly familiar gesture. “Alright,” he says roughly. “Alright. Uh, and it’s multiverse, I’m pretty sure.”

“Everything’s going to be alright.” He gives his boy a slight smile, then turns to head over to where the Batplane has just landed. “We’ll get you home, Jay-lad.” 

* * *

If Jason can say so himself, he was a damn cute kid. Possibly even cuter with the red hair.

But he was also an energetic kid who saw the world through a million brighter colors than he remembers doing and it _hurts_.

Jason had honestly thought he had made peace with what happened to him in that warehouse in Ethiopia. But now he sees who he could have been if he had been able to get out of that hell and delivered to Bruce's arms. 

Fuck, he’s even heard his damn soulsong again, something he’d given up hope on a long time ago. When Little Jay found out he hasn’t been able to hear it properly since dying—that all he’s got left is a broken, discordant cacophony—the kid had insisted on humming it for him. Hearing that melody again, the one that used to flow through his being for his entire life up until the point it was snuffed out and came back _wrong… _

He’d felt like he was shattering and coming back together at the same time. 

Now Little Jay is back on patrol for the first time in two months, chattering Jason's ear off. He's talking a million miles a minute about everything under the sun. He doesn't feel bad tuning the kid out as his gaze tracks the Gotham skyline, watching carefully for any crimes he might need to interrupt and take care of.

He doesn't see anything except a tiny little stalker half-hanging off a rickety fire escape, snapping picture after picture.

Oh hell no.

"Son of a bitch," he snarls, interrupting Little Jay's current train of thought and moving towards Little Tim, his grapple going to a spot that allows him to snag the kid from the fire escape and set him down somewhere _safe_.

"What the hell are you thinking?" he growls.

The kid just takes his picture. Little brat. Jason blinks at the flash and the audacity. "Will you autograph this for me?" Little Tim asks, voice full of likely false innocence.

How the hell is he still alive?

"Who's this?" Little Jay asks when he lands next to Jason.

Little Tim opens his mouth, probably about to spout some bold faced lie that Little Jay will buy hook, line, and sinker because he’s always been such a sucker for a pretty face, but Jason interrupts.

"This is Tim Drake. He's the brilliant asshole who figured out who Batman is at the age of _nine_."

“Tim Drake? Who’s Tim Drake?” the kid asks in the most perfectly guileless tone of voice. 

If Jason didn’t know better, he would think that the kid has absolutely no idea who Tim Drake is. He grits his teeth and tightens the grip he has on the sleeve of the boy’s too big jacket. 

“Kid…” Jason bites out, reaching for his patience. It looks like some things are universal and Tim’s unaccountable ability to lie without missing a beat is one of them.

“Soooo, this isn’t Tim, then?” Little Jay asks, clearly unsure about what is going on. He’s peering around Jason’s shoulder, eyeing Tim with curiosity clear on his face. He seems far more interested in Tim than worried about him.

“He is, in fact, Tim. Even if I didn’t recognize the little monster, his rampant lying would be a dead give-away.”

Tim just lifts an eyebrow at him in an expression which very much says that he thinks Jason is an absolute crazy person. Jason thought Tim had learned that particular facial expression from Alfred, but now he’s starting to wonder if Alfred actually learned it from Tim.

“I do have a marker,” Tim says, pulling his arm away from Jason’s so he can pluck the Polaroid out of the lip of his camera. Waving the photo gently with one hand, Tim stuffs his other hand into the camera bag slung over his shoulder. He digs out a marker and hands it to Jason as he eyes the picture. “...For your autograph. Give it another minute or so. It’s dark here so it’ll take a bit longer for it to develop.”

“How long does it usually take?” Little Jay asks as he peers down at the picture that is slowly coming into hazy focus. 

“It actually depends on the lighting and the ambient temperature. If it gets too hot—”

“Ok, ok, I think we can all do without a photography lecture—” Jason cuts in.

“But I’m curious!” Little Jay protests. “I haven’t seen one of those before.”

Jason shoots Little Jay a glare and shakes his head.

“Bud, it’s not his Polaroids you should be asking about.”

Tim is pretending to keep an eye on his developing photo, but Jason catches him watching Little Jay intently out of the corner of his eye. 

Jason shakes his head and goes to rub his eyes with his thumb and forefinger until he realizes that he is still wearing his mask. He settles for running a hand through his hair in frustration.

Damnit.

“How about a compromise?” he sighs. “I’ll buy the two of you a couple of milkshakes if Tim promises to stop hanging off of fire escapes.”

“Who?” Tim asks again smoothly.

Jason grimaces down at him. What a brat. The kid looks back up at him blankly.

“Chocolate or vanilla?” Jason asks Tim pointedly.

“Strawberry,” Tim answers. Little shit. 

Little Jay opens his mouth to tell them his flavor but Jason cuts him off with a swipe of his hand.

"Neapolitan," Jason says, grinning down at Little Jay. "I know."

Little Jay grins back up at him, understandingly.

"I'll keep an eye on him while you're gone," Little Jay promises, tilting his head in Tim's direction. "I'll make sure he says clear of all nearby fire escapes, water towers and telephone poles."

"Just because I know that little brat all too well," Jason says ruefully, "I won't hold you to that."

He takes off over the rooftop, sliding down another fire escape and heading two blocks over to the nearest ice cream shop. It’s pushing ten at night and the place is busy, but a bunch of high schoolers, clearly out past curfew, clear out and let him order before them. The kid behind the counter stutters while he takes Jason's order. 

Their shakes are done in record time.

"No charge," the kid behind the counter says, his voice cracking with nervous awe as Jason grabs the shakes.

"Thanks, kid," he answers, dropping a generous tip in the jar and heading back off towards where he left Little Jay and Tim.

They’re not too far from where he last saw them. It’s clear that Little Jay helped Tim climb to the top of the apartment building the kid had been hanging off of half an hour ago. The two of them are sitting on the edge of the rooftop, feet dangling out five stories above the street. Little Jay is kicking his feet out into the night sky as Tim sits next to him, still and contained.

Jason pauses for a moment to look up at them from the street below.

Even from this distance Jason can tell that Little Jay is talking a mile a minute as Tim nods and watches his face intently, listening closely to every word the older teen says.

Little Jay's body language exudes excitement and enthusiasm while Tim's...

Tim looks relaxed in a way that Jason hasn't seen from him before. His shoulders don't have that hunched, defensive tilt that Jason is so accustomed to seeing.

With a shake of his head, he makes his way back to the fire escape and heads back up to see the boys.

They say their thanks as they take their milkshakes from Jason. Both of them quiet down as they appreciatively start in on their milkshakes.

"So Tim," Jason asks, settling down on the edge of the roof next to him, "where are your parents this week?"

Little Jay, mouth still firmly attached to his straw, turns to look at the younger boy curiously.

Tim takes advantage of his mouthful of milkshake to take a minute to think about how to respond.

"Montenegro, I think," he says finally, not looking at either Jason or Little Jay when he answers.

Jason can’t help but be relieved that Tim finally decided to give in and be honest about who he is. He wasn’t sure how much more verbal gymnastics he could have taken from the kid.

"You're not sure?" Little Jay asks, his mouth full of milkshake.

"They don't exactly leave me an itinerary," Tim hedges.

"Why not?" Little Jay questions, frowning slightly.

Jason coughs, trying to save Tim from having to answer that particular question. The kid probably asks himself that very question about twelve times a day. Jason doubts he has answer.

"When are they coming home?" Jason asks, trying to keep his tone light.

"Unclear," Tim says, then goes in for another sip of milkshake.

"Who are you staying with?" Little Jay asks, frown deepening.

"No one, really," Tim says casually. "The housekeeper stops in during the day to check on me and make sure I have something to eat. She makes me a lot of leftovers so I can usually heat up my lunch and dinner myself. Otherwise..."

He trails off and shrugs expansively.

"So wait, you're home all alone? How old are you? Thirteen?" Little Jay asks indignantly.

"Hey, I'm not the one jumping into gun fights in a bright yellow cape," Tim points out, clearly trying to bait them into changing the subject.

"Hey—" Little Jay starts in, taking the bait beautifully.

Jason rolls his eyes, smirking. Kid still has a lot to learn. "How about you come back to the Cave with us tonight?" he suggests in an easy tone of voice. "Maybe think about staying with us for a few days until your parents get back?"

Little Jay looks up at him with wide, surprised eyes. He’s clearly shocked that Jason would suggest they take anyone back to the Cave without checking with Batman first.

"But—" Little Jay starts but doesn't seem to know how to finish that sentence.

"What do you say, kid?" Jason asks, watching Tim carefully.

The boy's mouth is on the straw of his milkshake, obviously trying to pretend he’s drinking it. Jason can tell he isn’t, though. The kid isn’t swallowing around anything other than a dry mouth while he considers how to answer. His face is impassive as he looks out into the distance, eyes unfocused but intent.

"You don't think..." Tim starts after a while. He blinks. "You don't think Bruce will be mad?"

Little Jay gasps at that, staring open-mouthed at Tim. "So you do know! ..._How?”_

Tim takes a deep breath and turns to look at Jason, clearly not sure how to even begin answering that question. Or maybe just not wanting to have to explain himself twice, if he’s going to have to tell his story to Batman later anyway.

"Nah kiddo, I don't think he'll be mad," Jason said softly. "I think he'll be disappointed you didn't come to him sooner."

Turns out, Jason isn’t wrong.

It's pushing one in the morning by the time they finished catching Bruce up to speed on who Tim is and how he figured out Batman’s identity. Bruce is a little stunned, but when Jason explains where Tim's parents are the man's voice gets tight, and he tells the boy that he's more than welcome to stay at the Manor at night until they’re back.

Little Jay and Tim go off to a corner of the Cave, and Tim snaps a bunch of pictures while the older teen practices on the gym equipment. Jason can tell that his younger alternate self is showing off a little, and he can't help but grin at the two of them.

"So he's known for years and hasn't said a word?"

Jason turns to see Bruce coming up behind him to watch the boys as well.

"Yeah, the kid's super good at going into ninja mode," Jason replies. "It's almost scary."

Bruce hums as he eyes Tim intently.

"He's in your universe as well?" the man asks.

"Yeah," Jason confirms, taking a deep breath. "But he's much more..."

"More what?"

"More... everything, really..." Jason finishes with a shrug. 

"Do you two get along as well as the two of them?"

"Not... No. We don't,” Jason is saddened by the feelings of guilt and regret that wash over him at that admission to Bruce.

"Why not?" Bruce asks gently. 

"Long story, B," Jason says shaking his head and looking back at the boys, watching them together and seeing what might have been. "Very long story."

Tim becomes something of a fixture in the Cave after that. He helps Alfred bring sandwiches to them before they go off on patrol, reorganizes Bruce's files, and helps Little Jay with his training. While Jason and Bruce work on their cases, the boys sit off in a corner and chat and train and joke around.

A few days after Jason hauled Tim back to the Cave with them, he’s amused to see Little Jay and Tim going through the younger boy's Polaroids like they’re trading cards. Tim manages to coax Bruce, Little Jay, and even Jason himself to sign a few of his pictures. 

Little Jay is fawning over the photographs while Jason and Bruce discuss the tricky issue of how to get Jason home.

"I know this feels like it's taking forever, but I think we are close to a solution," Bruce says, eyeing his computer.

"You've been saying that for weeks," Jason points out, grimly. It’s not that he isn’t enjoying his time here—spending time with this less-broken version of his family is actually pretty awesome—but he knows he left people behind who are probably worried about him. If they didn’t just assume he died in the explosion, that is. He scowls. 

Bruce is pointedly silent in response. 

Jason resists the urge to punch a wall in frustration. He shakes his head, trying to calm his temper when Tim’s soft voice pipes up.

"Maybe it isn't just one solution," Tim offers from the corner where he and Little Jay are.

Bruce and Jason turn to look at the kid, who is watching the two of them intently. Tim and Little Jay are sitting in a half circle of photographs laid out on the floor around them. Both are looking up at the older men with serious expressions on their faces.

"What do you mean, Tim?" Bruce asks, spinning his chair so he's facing the boys.

"I mean, Jay said that Jason traveled through time, space and to a different location, right? So maybe..." Tim starts and then breaks off. He takes a deep breath, clearly trying to figure out how to explain what he means. "It's just... Look at developing film. With regular negatives, you dip them into a chemical solution and wait, right? But..."

He trails off and lifts one of his Polaroids, waving it gently in the air as it develops.

"But what if this situation is more like developing a Polaroid? Polaroid film has three layers, right? The image layer, the timing layer and the acid layer. The three layers work in order to develop the photo. Maybe this is the same thing. Maybe you need to fix the time travel layer, then the multiverse layer, then the location layer. And then boom. The three layers work in tandem to get Jason back to where he belongs."

Jason isn't sure how to respond to that. He looks to Bruce to gauge how they're going to handle answering the kid. The man's face is blank for a long moment before a wave of what looks like understanding washes over his expression.

He doesn't say a word to any of them, just turns to his computer and starts typing rapidly.

Jason turns to look at Tim who stares back at him knowingly before pointedly turning to Little Jay again.

"Want to see my pictures of Huntress?" he asks.

Little Jay takes the bait, and then they're back to pawing through the Polaroids.

Jason turns back to Bruce, who is still furiously typing at his computer.

"Todd," Bruce says after a long moment, looking up with a faint smile. "I think we've got it." His face clouds slightly as he takes in Jason’s no doubt slightly overwhelmed expression at the thought of finally going home. 

And losing this closeness with his family again. 

Bruce’s eyes are too knowing as he pats him on the shoulder. “Why don’t you head upstairs now, Jay-lad? The rest is just crunching the numbers, and I can handle that myself. Get some rest.”

* * *

Jason’s already upstairs when he finds a data stick tucked into the pocket of his jacket. He generously ignores how, other than Little Jay, literally no one has been close enough to do _anything _to him, with Tim being too slow and twitchy and Bruce being too… well… Bruce, before thumbing it in consideration, and booting up one of Little Jay’s spare computers. 

It’s clunky and it lags, especially compared to the leaps and bounds they’ve made in alien tech in the future. Despite the crappy tech, it only takes his nimble mind less than ten minutes to decode the first wall of encryption. 

It was a hard piece of code. A little ingenious for its time, akin to something Oracle might cook up if she had started coding in this era. 

(She starts a little later, Jason remembers. Her distance when he came back was one of the ones that left him most barren at heart, even if he completely understood why she had kept away.)

But Jason can’t help but pour a little piece of himself into all his work, and this is no exception. Little Jay is slick, but not half as slick as he thinks he is. 

Big Jay isn’t half as unaffected as he likes to think he is, either. 

In the folder is a list of video, audio, and text-files, all of which appear to be aptly named. 

___Watch_the_videos_in_order.txt_

__I_mean_it_Big_Jay.txt_

_1_Start_here.mp4_

_Bossy little shit, _Jason thinks fondly. He clicks on the aforementioned first video file. A video of the Bat Cave pops up, with Bruce typing avidly on the BatComputer while the camera sneaks closer and closer. 

Behind the camera comes a rebellious snort, which is reeled back as quickly as it had escaped. Little Jay, Jason recognizes. 

In his hand is a water balloon. 

Jason remembers his little pranks. It was during his earlier days. The minute he found out that Bruce waterproofed all his technology. Jason took it upon himself to hold the man true to his word, counting the seconds until he was off-guard and practicing his stealth skills along the way. Holding his breath, Jason watches as Little Jay traverses the crooks and crannies to find the optimal position as the biggest predator in the room. 

Little Jay slowly lifts his arm up. He pelts the water balloon at Bruce’s unprotected back—

—and it lands right in Bruce’s outstretched hand. 

He hasn’t even pulled his eyes away from the screen.

_“Boo!”_ Little Jay says from behind the camera. He shakes his thumb downwards at Bruce.

Jason can’t seem to grasp a breath. He doesn’t dare look away from the screen. 

Because the Bruce that finally tears his eyes away from his monitor… His affection and laughter is transparent in his eyes. It’s too unreal. It leaves the man too vulnerable. 

Jason always wondered why Bruce didn’t deck him with his own water balloon then and there. That’s what he would’ve done in his position. But this man is undoubtedly so much lighter, and so much brighter than the Bruce in his universe. His chest is heaving, so Jason reels it in. He needs to remember that this isn’t his Bruce. 

“You would’ve been more successful if you hadn’t giggled your whole way through the mansion,” not-his-Bruce says. 

“I don’t _giggle,_” Little Jay says indignantly. 

“Then what was all that racket going on over there? I dearly hope your stealth training hasn't gone to waste.”

“It’s ‘cause you’re hearing things, old man,” Little Jay says, strutting his way to beside Bruce’s chair. “Normal people would’ve humored the youngin _stealthily _sneaking around trying to have some fun, and let him have the victory.”

“I’m not the one speaking like Alfred’s schoolmate in war-time Britain,” Bruce says. “Really, Jason? A youngin?”

The camera shakes. Little Jay’s probably waving at himself. “I’m as young as they come.”

Bruce huffs, clearly amused. “You are ridiculous.” 

“No, _you’re _ridiculous.” 

“And very mature,” Bruce says. “What are you doing with your recordings? Those cameras are to help you practice your forms, not to be used for any nefarious reasons.”

Little Jay shrugs. “One isn’t mutually exclusive of the other.”

“Jason.”

“I was bored, okay?” Little Jay says, shuffling his feet. “Babs was going to take me to the museum but she cancelled last minute ‘cause she and Dick are doing batstuff. Now… _Ugh… _I don’t know…”

Bruce looks at him from under his brows, and god, is _Jason _familiar with that look. That ridiculous, piercing look that can see through you and three galaxies over. Even with Bruce as young as he is, he’s already perfected it like a sharp blade. But instead of scowling and pinching the bridge of his nose, the man sighs and pushes his chair back. 

“Come on then,” Bruce says. “I was working on refining a more powerful telescope for Superman. You think you’d be up for the challenge? Still a fan of space? Haven’t ditched your one true love for dinosaurs or Egyptology?”

“Am I!” Little Jay bounces on the balls of his feet. The camera rattles wildly, before settling at his eye-height. “The Hubble’s got nothing on _these _bad boys.”

“Ah, yes. The wonders of technology have nothing on the pure mechanics of human biology.”

“You betcha!” Little Jay says, bouldering over Bruce’s sarcastic tone. There’s a moment of silence, then a sly, “Hey, Bruce. When did you say you’ll take me to space again?”

Bruce chuckles, because both of them—three, counting Jason, he guesses—know that he has never said such a thing. 

The camera is still pointed at the ground, but Jason can still pick up the warm tone of the man’s voice. 

“How about I promise you this,” Bruce says. “I’ll take you when you’re old enough to swear in front of Alfred, Jason.”

An excited silence, before another indignant, _“Hey!”_

The video ends. A sudden and final click. 

Jason hates it with all his soul. 

He hates how his chest hurts and he hates how his eyes burn. He hates how, with one look, Bruce _knew,_ and Bruce _cared. _He hates how he did end up going to space. He hates how it just wasn’t with Bruce. 

Another broken promise to litter the junkyard that is their relationship. 

But his fingers move without his permission, and his cursor hovers over the next in the series. 

_2_Keep_going.mp4_

_3_It’s_worth_it.mp4_

Jason thought he torched the last of these memories behind at the Pit, but what good does it do when reliving it hits harder than remembering what he left behind? The things Bruce could have done—they war with the things Bruce _did _do, and alternatively, the things Bruce _didn’t _do. 

When did it all go wrong? When did everything break apart?

Jason doesn’t want to know. 

_Jason doesn’t want to know. _

_Stupid, _he scolds himself, hand clutching his mouse in a death grip. _A gullible fool, a liar, and so, so, stupid. _

Risen from the Lazarus pit, and he’s still so, so _weak. _

Jason squeezes his eyes shut. He clicks the next video. 

* * *

Time washes by, and Jason doesn’t know why he keeps floating through these videos—it only confirms what he’s always known about the Manor—that they have no _fucking privacy _in this goddamn mansion—but he feels anchored to each scene like a ship coming home at the end of its voyage. 

_“I wasn’t there for you, even though I was right beside you,” Bruce says. “I’m sorry, Jason. I should’ve been there for you. I don’t know how to apologize enough. I don’t think I ever will, but I will keep trying. I never want to lose you.” _

He’s on the last one of the series, the most recent of them all. Just an audio file. No video attached, and no number. Only a name that begs for Jason to click it, and Bruce’s voice that devastates in its simple sincerity. 

_You’ll_want_this.mp3_

_“I love you, Jason. I always will.”_

He clicks on the replay button before he even knows what’s happening. 

“I must have a lot to answer for if this is what causes you to cry.” The voice comes from behind him, rather than the computer.

“Shit. Fucking shit,” Jason mumbles to himself. He wipes his face with the back of his hand. “The man of the fucking hour.”

“For whatever it’s worth,” Bruce says, “I meant everything I said.”

“I wouldn’t even know where to begin,” Jason says, his voice raspy. “Everything about you here is _wrong_—you’re _younger, _you’re _open, _and you _care._” 

Bruce looks stricken by the admission, and that’s _wrong, wrong, wrong, _because Bruce would have _never _shown himself to be _stricken. _

The man swallows. “I don’t know what I should say,” he admits. 

“You let him live in my world,” Jason hisses. “You let the Joker run _free _when he was the one who took _me _away from you! Did I mean nothing to you? So little that you’d let my murderer walk free without consequences?”

Grief twists the man’s expression into something broken. “I don’t know, Jason,” Bruce whispers. “I don’t know.”

“Well you should!” Jason yells. “_You should! _Because he’s _you _but he’s_ nothing like you!”_

Jason wants to lash out, but his body aches to curl in. He didn’t even mean to lose control of his voice. Now he’s lost control of everything; his breathing is ragged and loud, his shoulders are shaking, and tears are running down his face. He settles for bending forward, cupping his face into his knees. 

A hand brushes his shoulder. “Jason—”

“Don’t!” He jerks his shoulder away.”Don’t touch me!” 

Like always, the man doesn’t listen. But this time, he’s right not to. Jason hates how he’s literally galaxies away from his own fucking Bruce, and that ridiculous, piercing look that can still see right through him.

“Jason,” Bruce says softly. His hands gather Jason up, like broken pieces of cherished ceramics, and he coaxes Jason’s head on his chest. 

The young man resists the urge to muffle his sobs into Bruce’s shirt. 

“I don’t know, Jay-lad,” Bruce says, running one hand down his back, like he always did, back when Jason was younger. “I can’t answer for him. I can’t imagine becoming him. You don’t understand. You and Dick are more than the world to me.”

Giving up, Jason shudders into Bruce’s shirt. “You don’t mean that,” he says petulantly.

“Aren’t you the one that adores poetry?” Bruce asks. “My sons and my suns. Without you both, there’s no light. There’s no life. There’s no path or trajectory. A barren land floating on nothing.”

“Using space metaphors is cheating, you dirty bastard,” Jason croaks out, pulling Bruce in closer. “You know how much I love space…_” _

Bruce holds him tighter. “I love you, Jason. I always will. I’m sorry if I, any version of me, ever made you doubt it for a second.”

* * *

Jason heads down the stairs to the Cave feeling oddly light, like a weight has been lifted off his heart. Which is dumb, because it wasn’t even _his _Bruce that he cried all over. But last night was the most peaceful sleep he’s had since he came back from the dead, and there’s only one explanation for that. 

Fuck, he even thinks he can hear his goddamn _soulsong _again, and isn’t that a trip? He pauses on the stairs, listening to the gentle swells of the melody that accompanied him through every challenge and triumph of his first life. Faster and brighter during happy times, slow and in a minor key when life was shitty. His mom used to hum him to sleep with it sometimes, on her better days. 

Jason swallows over the lump in his throat at the memory, then frowns. Is his soulsong getting… _louder? _He tilts his head, then turns, eyes widening. There’s Tim, in the same corner he was set up in yesterday, organizing some of his photographs into what looks like a scrapbook. 

He’s humming.

Little Jay is standing frozen a few feet away, just staring down at Tim, shock and wonder on his face. Because the kid is humming _their goddamn soulsong. _

“Oh fuck,” Jason whispers under his breath, so softly neither of the younger boys hear him. He watches in disbelief with an aching sense of yearning as Little Jay stumbles to his knees at Tim’s side, voice breaking slightly as he picks up the tune. 

Watches, as the two boys stare at each other, matching expressions of realization and joy on their youthful faces. They start to reach for each other, and he finally manages to force himself to turn away. They deserve to have this moment to themselves.

He’s leaning on the clock, trying to get his breath under control, when Bruce’s voice unexpectedly speaks from right beside him. “You said the two of you didn’t get along well in your universe.” The man frowns. “You…”

Of fucking course the big creeper was listening, too. He doesn’t even know why he’s surprised at this point. But there’s no _way _he’s going to lay bare the entire fucked up history of his relationship with his replacement. Maybe, if things are similar enough between their two universes… his fucking _soulmate. _

Jason shakes his head. “Look… You’ve done a lot, Old Man, but this is one thing you’re not gonna be able to fix for me. I think I broke it past fixing a long damn time ago.”

Bruce regards him for a long moment, concern and a stupid amount of affection so apparent on his face. “Okay, son.” He frowns, clearly wanting to say more, then exhales slowly before nodding. “I was coming to tell you, I’ve finished the calculations needed to send you home.”

Oh, _fuck. _

Jason’s not sure he’s ready. He’s been here too damn long already, considering the others back home must think he’s either missing or dead again. But… He just found out Tim, at least this version of him, is his _soulmate. _And this universe is really damn close to his own, so chances are…

Tim’s probably his soulmate. Of course, there’s no damn chance he’d be interested, not after everything Jason did to him. His heart sinks, then he shrugs mentally.

Well, fuck it. He’ll go home, hum the damn song, and deal with whatever the fuck happens next. At least he’ll know. 

He clears his throat. “Yeah, okay. But… I think I got time to hang out for a while. What say we go get Alfie, throw a little party for the kiddos?” At the relieved expression on Bruce’s face, he snorts. “What, you thought I was gonna just take off? Naw, gotta at least say goodbye to the brats.”

Doesn’t hurt either that it gives him a few more hours before he has to go home and face the music, so to speak. By the amused look on Bruce’s face, the other man has the exact same thought.

* * *

The wave of light and sound that envelops him is exactly the same as before, and Jason opens his eyes half-expecting to see the Joker hovering over him again. Instead, he sees Tim, _his _Tim, blinking at him in stunned disbelief from his seat at the Batcomputer. His dark hair is a tousled mess, he’s wearing sweats and a suspiciously familiar wrinkled t-shirt that’s way the hell too big for him, and he’s surrounded by a veritable army of empty coffee cups. By the dark shadows under his eyes, he probably hasn’t slept in days.

He looks like hell. 

Jason’s never seen anything more beautiful in either of his lives. “Tim,” he starts, and can’t bring himself to say anything more.

“Jason,” Tim breathes, staring at him for a moment longer before stumbling to his feet. “Oh my god, _Jason.” _He reaches out like he wants to check to see if he’s really there. “I’m sorry, I’ve been _trying _to bring you home, it was just so much more difficult from this side. I would’ve gotten to you eventually, but I had to check every one of the possible universes you might have been sent to—” 

From the look of it, he’s going to keep apologizing for a while. “B helped me,” Jason says. He blinks, frowning. “I wasn’t even sure you guys would realize I was gone and not just, y’know, dead. You’ve really been trying to bring me back?”

Tim’s mouth drops open in surprise. “Of _course _we have! I _saw _you disappear when you threw me out that damn window, Jason—” he narrows his eyes at the thought and then punches Jason lightly on the arm. “You suck for that, by the way.” He directs an adorable glare at him.

Jason rubs at his arm lightly, unable to suppress a chuckle even thought that just makes Tim glare even harder. “Sorry, Baby Bird, but if it’s ever down to you or me again, I’ll _always _choose you.” His eyes widen as he realizes what he just said. Tim’s blinking up at him now, looking confused but slightly hopeful. 

Well, this is probably his best shot. If things go south now, there’s a pretty good chance he can convince Tim later it was just a sleep-deprived hallucination. 

Slightly reassured at the thought, Jason inhales. 

And starts to hum.

It only takes a few seconds before Tim’s gasping in shock and whispering, “Oh my god… Really?” And then he’s in his arms, and Jason’s not sure which of them moved but he holds on _tight. _

His soulsong swells in his heart, rejoicing over having his soulmate right where he belongs, and he wonders how many chances he’s missed over the years. How many times his soulsong reacted to Tim’s presence, and he just couldn’t hear it right because the Pit fucked him up so bad.

“It’s back,” Tim whispers, voice trembling with emotion. “My soulsong’s been so soft for years I could barely even hear it, but now… It’s _back_.” 

Well, apparently Jason’s soulsong being screwed up had more ramifications than he realized. He’s doubly glad things seem to be fixed now that he knows it was affecting Tim, too. 

Still…

“Baby Bird,” he murmurs into the other man’s soft, dark hair, “are you sure you wanna do this? I mean, just because we’re fuckin’ soulmates doesn’t fix any of that shit I did to you before. I know I fuckin’ apologized, but…”

Tim’s arms tighten around him and he looks up, blue eyes so earnest. “Jay, I forgave you for all of that _years _ago. I’ve just been happy to have you as my friend, never even thought to hope for more.” His cheeks flush slightly. “Well, maybe I did think about it _sometimes…”_ He smirks. 

Jason gapes. Baby Bird did _not _just imply what he thinks he did. “Are you sayin’ you jacked it to me?” 

The blush on the other man’s cheeks deepens, but his smirk doesn’t change. “You heard me.”

Little shit. Jason grins. This is going to be _fun_.

**Author's Note:**

> Between brainstorming and writing this story, this work contains contributions from ayzengima, bewaretheboojum, nanimok, njw, salazarastark, themandylion, snow, strawberryjei, chibinightowl, shmoo92, and vellaphoria.
> 
> Thanks, everyone, for all your ideas and effort in creating this gift for Akira!
> 
> [Capes & Coffee Tim Drake discord server](https://discord.gg/bGhpCDn)


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